From Here
by Angelus1
Summary: PostChosen. Spike and Buffy in a motel room. Inspired by Annie SewellJennings' Nineteen Hours.


Title: From Here  
  
Author: Angelus  
  
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "From Here" on the subject line.)  
  
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer  
  
Category: BSR  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Post-"Chosen". Spike and Buffy in a motel room.  
  
Spoilers: "Chosen".  
  
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.  
  
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Buffy, Spike, and other characters mentioned are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
Author's notes: This fic was inspired by Annie Sewell-Jenning's "Nineteen Hours". It also might be the last Spuffy story I write for awhile. Forgive me - I've been sucked into The O.C. and the hotness of Adam Brody.  
  
Dedication: To Andrew, just for being your awesome self.  
  
~*~  
  
The nightmare is over. She doesn't care to relive it, to dwell upon the lives lost. What matters to her is that she's still alive herself. And that he's here beside her. Spike; her touchstone, her anchor, her everything. He survived. The amulet still hangs around his neck, drained of its power, reminding her.  
  
He should have died. The thought has been floating through her mind for the past few hours, but only now does she actually let it be voiced, even if only inside her own head.   
  
He should have died. What would she have done if he had? What would have happened if she hadn't taken his hand in hers, absorbing the sunlight, unknowingly saving him from the last few rays that otherwise would have consumed him whole, leaving her with nothing but a small pile of ash to mark the passing of the man she loved?  
  
What would have happened if he hadn't prompted her to take his hand in the first place, by renouncing her declaration?  
  
They haven't talked about any of it. Yet. It's been a quiet but tense few hours as wounds have been tended to, cuts and bruises patched up, tired limbs rested. Buffy's side itches from the nearly-fatal sword thrust she took to the stomach, but it's already beginning to heal. The other scratches and scrapes that had liberally covered the rest of her body in the midst of the battle have now faded into nearly nothing.   
  
The same goes for Spike. His shirt hangs off of him unbuttoned, the only thing marring his pale marble chest the tan bandage on his left pectoral. Other than that, the only wound she can see is a fading bruise near the waistband of his jeans from where he'd been sucker-punched in the gut.  
  
Dirt, battle scars and all, he's still the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.  
  
They've been in this room for about an hour, him by the drawn curtains, peeking out into the daylight outside, her sitting cross-legged on the bed watching him. Willow and Xander are in the room next door, Giles a door down, Robin and Faith next to him, and Vi and the few remaining Potentials on the end. It's painful, almost physically so, to acknowledge just how many have made the ultimate sacrifice to this cause - taking down the First. Kennedy, Amanda, Andrew, Rona, Anya, Mollie...and the list goes on.  
  
Spike should be on that list.  
  
Once the thought makes itself known, she just can't seem to chase it away; every train of thought seems to lead right back to that looming, undeniable fact:  
  
Spike should have died back in that cave. Right now, he's supposed to be that small pile of ashes, instead of the lean, white form standing just across the room, silently begging her to touch him without ever even looking at her.  
  
"Come over here," she breathes. He glances up, startled by the sound of her voice - any voice. Almost as soon as his gaze meets hers, he bows his head to the floor, regarding her through his eyelashes. Then, as if he decides it's safe after all, he comes.  
  
Buffy rises to meet him, and he isn't even to the bed yet when she presses her lips urgently to his. He doesn't fight her - they both need this. She feels him harden beneath her, and chains her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.  
  
It's been forever since she's let him this close, yet somehow, it feels like they did this just yesterday. She shudders as Spike slides chilly fingers up under her shirt, running them up and down her back. She presses closer, grinding against him, and though logic tells her that physically it isn't possible for her to get any closer, she still feels like she just isn't close enough.  
  
Buffy tears at Spike's already-tattered clothing, desperate to feel him inside of her. He's so different with her now - more submissive. He kisses her deeply, and clutches her to him tightly, rough hands skimming and groping their way up and down her body in a purely possessive manner, but for the most part, he lets her take the lead. When, instead of collapsing on top of her and pinning her to the bed like he used to, he lays her gently beneath him, she almost forgets that it's Spike.  
  
Then he kisses her again, erasing all doubt.  
  
It seems like seconds and hours at the same time before he's above her, poised at her slick entrance, the tip of his shaft poking at her swollen lips.  
  
"Buffy, luv," he gasps, his voice filled with awe and tenderness and love.  
  
"Shh," she instructs, placing a finger to his lips.  
  
Kissing her finger, he plunges into her.  
  
Buffy moans deep in her throat, a moan to rival Spike's answering one. He squeezes his eyes shut, something he'd never done before. Buffy, however, is content to watch him as he slowly pumps in and out of her.   
  
Somewhere during their lovemaking, Spike's hands have taken ahold of hers. He squeezes them now, bending his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to her collarbone as his orgasm overtakes him.  
  
Buffy goes careening over the edge only seconds later, and then they just lay there, hands still clasped tightly together. Unbidden, sleep overtakes them. Buffy lifts one of Spike's hands to kiss the back of it before she drifts off completely.  
  
Tomorrow, when they wake, they'll talk. About life and death and love and what this is between them and what the hell they're going to do next.  
  
Tomorrow. Because they finally hve what they've been fighting for these last few months:  
  
They have time. They have the future.  
  
They have forever. 


End file.
